Yesterday I went out as planned to do my Sunday long run. I was only scheduled to run 8 miles but I was trying to make up the mileage I missed the previous Sunday by running at least 13. I got up early, hoping to take advantage of the morning's relative shelter against the predicted 90 degree intensity expected by mid- to late morning. Alas, since it was Sunday, I had not set my alarm and slept through until 6:30, when the dog woke me for her morning walk.
My dog Rita wakes up with me during the week at 5. She has completely cycled herself to my weekday schedule. Unfortunately, she makes no allowance for weekends. Trying to catch a few extra z's with her long face a few inches from my own, as she whines and makes periodic, increasingly higher-pitched yips, is a slow torture wake-up system. On this occasion she did my a favor since I wanted to get up, or rather I'd though that would be a good plan the day before. After cursing her ancestry I dutifully stumbled downstairs with her and put her out in the yard.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Running off at the mouth
This is a blog and by definition it's an exercise in hubris. Who the Hell cares what I have to say, outside of friends and family? But it's my first attempt at a blog and I hope over time it finds a voice that reaches out to others who trawl the internet for nuggets of experience in which to refract their own lives. I'm not always going to talk about running. But I will talk about the marathon of being a single dad. I will talk about the narratives spread over the running times of old movies that I love. In between I'll fit in books and beer and anything else that strikes my fancy. Hopefully, I'll find my voice in this very public sphere and some of you will want to hear it. This is definitely a work in progress. As am I.
What makes Tommy run?
I just began training for my second marathon. The only thing more startling than the words "training" and "marathon" in that sentence is the sequential "second." Two and a half years ago I barely ran, and I certainly didn't do so willingly. Earlier this year on my 50th birthday I ran 26.2 miles in 90-degree weather and now I want to do it again sans the scorching conditions, which I think I'll be able to improve on by running in November, in Philadelphia.
There are lots of people who run marathons and ultramarathons and there are lots of people who can run faster than I can. There are lots of people who can't, and there are those that I manage to pass on the course. That's the beauty of it: there is only one fastest person and one slowest person alive in the world at any given time.
The fastest person alive has been officially identified as Usain Bolt. The slowest person alive is unlikely to be known by name. But between the happily named Mr. Bolt and and the unknown slowest man/or woman in the world is a six billion plus number line on which the rest of the human race sits as a series of constantly shifting points. I know I'm not near Usain Bolt's end of this axis but I know that somewhere in the world there are at least a million people I could probably beat in a long-distance race.
There are lots of people who run marathons and ultramarathons and there are lots of people who can run faster than I can. There are lots of people who can't, and there are those that I manage to pass on the course. That's the beauty of it: there is only one fastest person and one slowest person alive in the world at any given time.
The fastest person alive has been officially identified as Usain Bolt. The slowest person alive is unlikely to be known by name. But between the happily named Mr. Bolt and and the unknown slowest man/or woman in the world is a six billion plus number line on which the rest of the human race sits as a series of constantly shifting points. I know I'm not near Usain Bolt's end of this axis but I know that somewhere in the world there are at least a million people I could probably beat in a long-distance race.
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